


Habit-Forming

by i_claudia



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bathroom Sex, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-15
Updated: 2010-04-15
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:48:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_claudia/pseuds/i_claudia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part of a collaboration helpfully titled FIVE TIMES MERLIN AND ARTHUR FUCKED IN A BATHROOM STALL.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Habit-Forming

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on LJ [here](http://i-claudia.livejournal.com/50951.html). (15 April 2010)

This isn’t what Arthur does. It’s not. Somehow, though, here he is anyway, slamming someone he met barely two days ago against the tiled wall of the men’s bathroom and shoving a hand up under Merlin’s shirt to get his hands on the skin hidden underneath, ripping buttons as he does. Merlin’s eyes go wide at that, and he bites a groan into Arthur’s shoulder, one hand still wrapped tight in Arthur’s tie.

It’s well known that Arthur’s always a consummate professional at these conferences. He enjoys his fair share of gossip – who doesn’t? – but he’s never wanted to be the subject of it, has never really understood why people would ever risk their credibility for the sake of a one night stand they’ll keep running into awkwardly for years to come at the same round-table lunches and weekend symposiums.

He still doesn’t understand it, not really, but it didn’t stop him from watching Merlin all evening from across the conference room, hadn’t entered into his calculations when Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him before casually setting his napkin down and heading for the bathroom.

Arthur follows him because it feels natural, because he wants to, because above all it feels like he’s been looking at Merlin all weekend; he can’t stop himself from disagreeing with Merlin during panels and on coffee breaks purely for the sake of watching his cheeks get red and flushed with irritation when Arthur makes a purposefully obtuse argument. He catches Merlin just outside the door, looping two fingers into Merlin’s belt and yanking him close as they stumble together into the bathroom, desperate for touch in a way he’s never felt before, never known he could feel; desperate enough that the fear that any of their colleagues might have seen them has disappeared.

The only thing that matters now is the snick of the lock behind him, the echoing of Merlin’s uneven breaths in the small cubicle, the small sounds he makes when Arthur scrapes his teeth along the side of Merlin’s neck just under his ear, rough.

“God,” Merlin growls, fumbling with Arthur’s belt and the zip of his trousers. “You are... you are so...”

Arthur kisses him again, licks into his mouth to stop the words from coming out, bottle them out; he doesn’t want to know what he is, doesn’t want anything that isn’t Merlin’s tongue doing wicked things to Arthur’s ability to think clearly, or Merlin pushing Arthur’s trousers past his hips to stroke a hand along Arthur’s groin, fingers trailing down one hip bone to press against Arthur’s swelling erection.

“ _Obnoxious_ ,” Merlin says, vehemently, and it takes Arthur a moment to remember what he’s talking about, because Merlin’s stripped him to the skin now from the waist down, pushing his trousers down around his knees, and Merlin has a hand around Arthur’s cock, long fingers fluttering, touching him in ways that make Arthur sag a little against Merlin’s solid warmth, lean his forehead on Merlin’s shoulder before Merlin’s sliding down, out of reach. Arthur takes a moment to wonder where the hell he’s going before—

“Oh, Jesus H. fucking Christ,” Arthur gasps, biting the words out around the embarrassing sounds he wants to make when Merlin’s mouth closes around the head of his cock, filthy and perfect and God, so far beyond good. Arthur can’t help but fall forward a little, brace himself against the wall and drop a hand down to hang on to Merlin’s shoulder while Merlin takes it upon himself to take Arthur entirely apart.

Maybe Arthur’s just gone too long without this, or maybe Merlin’s just unfairly, unbelievably amazing at this, at knowing exactly how to slide his tongue along the vein running along the underside of Arthur’s dick, how to catch Arthur’s foreskin gently between his teeth while he rolls Arthur’s balls in one hand. Arthur swears again, fingers pressing hard against the wall, and Merlin pulls _off_ , the bastard, standing again to yank at Arthur’s tie and unbutton Arthur’s shirt at a feverish pace, sliding his hands along the smooth plane of Arthur’s chest when he gets it off and taking a moment to flick his thumb lightly over Arthur’s nipple. 

Arthur draws in a sharp breath at the sharp tingle that sends flashing through him, and Merlin looks at him, all deviousness.

“Liked that, did you,” he asks, and before Arthur can bluster any kind of answer, Merlin’s bent down and licked a hot, wide stripe directly across the sensitive nub.

Arthur bites back a moan and skims his hands over Merlin’s shoulders ineffectually, slowly losing the fight to keep his hips still as Merlin catches his nipple between his teeth, laving it thoroughly with his tongue before moving calmly to the other.

The angle is awkward, but Arthur runs his hands over the parts of Merlin he can reach, threads his fingers through Merlin’s hair before running them further down, concentrating on the smooth slide of Merlin’s skin beneath his hands, the flutter of Merlin’s pulse in the hollow of his throat where Arthur rests his thumb. There’s a tense anxiety thrumming under his own skin, as a hot desperate want making him dizzy with the heady power of it, and when Merlin scrapes his teeth against Arthur’s chest, sending his nerves fizzing, Arthur’s had enough.

His hand’s still resting on the sloping curve of Merlin’s collarbone, and it’s easy enough to push Merlin back, first with his hand and then with his entire body, walking forward until he has Merlin trapped against the wall again, their chests crushed together. The buttons on Merlin’s shirt scrape against Arthur’s belly, and he shivers at the sensation.

Merlin looks at him, bright-eyed, his hair mussed where Arthur had his fingers in it. “So you’ve got me,” he says in a voice that would have been conversational if Arthur hadn’t been able to hear the want crackling along every syllable, hadn’t been able to feel Merlin’s cock hard and hot against his hip. “What are you going to do with me?”

Arthur kisses him instead of answering, light, teasing brushes across his lips that grew deeper, heavier, until Arthur can barely breathe from the glory of it. Merlin rocks his hips forward, grinding against Arthur and letting loose small, needy sounds that Arthur swallows greedily, licking them out of Merlin’s sweet mouth. The pressure on his cock feels good, so good, and Merlin’s an excellent kisser – he kisses like he means it, like it’s a challenge he has to win – and Arthur’s getting close, delicious little thrills chasing themselves up from the base of his spine and down to his fingertips...

He pulls himself away abruptly, gasping. He may be reduced to getting off in the bathroom of a hotel on company time, but he isn’t about to add the shame of coming in his trousers to everything else.

It’s a comfort to see that Merlin looks just as wrecked as Arthur feels: his lips are bruised red, shiny from Arthur’s kisses, and his eyes are a little wild, wide and dark. He glares at Arthur. “Why did you _stop_?”

In a rapid chain of events Arthur doesn’t quite follow, Merlin shoves him backwards and manhandles him until he’s sitting on the toilet, propped up against the tank, and Merlin is touching him with an expert hand.

Arthur arches up without thinking at the first touch. “Christ, Merlin—”

“Stay _still_ ,” Merlin orders, and suddenly Arthur has a lap full of him, pressing down in all sorts of delightful ways. Arthur runs his hands down Merlin’s sides appreciatively in response, until he can spread his fingers over Merlin’s arse, cupping his buttocks while Merlin undoes his own belt.

Merlin’s cock is beautiful, thick and dark, curving just slightly to the right. Arthur wants to touch, wants to taste, wants to bury his nose in the tight dark curls at the base of it and take it all in, swallow until Merlin comes down his throat, but before he can move Merlin takes them both in hand, stroking slow and steady, lingering just a little every so often to drive Arthur mad by running his fingers lightly over the head of Arthur’s cock, rubbing his thumb over the top of it, sliding his fingers just under the crown. Arthur squeezes Merlin’s arse hard in retaliation, drawing him even closer, digging his fingers deep, sliding them a little along Merlin’s crack.

This should be ungodly uncomfortable – Arthur can feel the sweat on his back making his skin slip along the cold ceramic of the toilet, and his muscles are protesting the position he’s in loudly, straining to keep both himself and Merlin upright and dry – but Merlin’s apparently co-opted the entirety of Arthur’s being, rerouting every single nerve ending to where Merlin’s hand is still stroking them, to where his cock rubs hot and slick against Arthur’s, to where Merlin’s bending to take Arthur’s mouth again in deep, biting kisses.

Merlin’s rocking forward now, speeding his hand up, and the bones of Arthur’s spine are grinding excruciatingly against the toilet but he’s still left gasping for breath at the hitching cries Merlin tries to muffle, a soft stream of _oh, oh, oh_ that’s far too loud, echoing off the off-white tiles. Arthur can feel orgasm creeping up on him from low in his stomach, and he lets go of Merlin with one hand, bringing it forward to link their fingers together around their cocks, squeezing gently when he pulls up.

“Oh _fuck_ ,” Merlin groans, dropping his head to Arthur’s shoulder. “Fuck, fuck, Arthur, I—”

Whatever he’s going to say gets cut off by a shuddering whine when Arthur licks the curve of his ear on a whim, and he comes in a rush, his free hand digging angry red marks into Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur speeds up his own hand, closing his eyes against the rising tightening of his own orgasm, reveling in the sharp edge of need before he realises that fuck, Merlin’s still wearing clothes, still has on his _tie_ while Merlin’s come is all over Arthur’s own bare stomach, and he tips over abruptly, gulping back the moan that threatens to slip out and only mostly succeeding.

They don’t waste much time slumped together after they get their breath back. Arthur fumbles for the toilet paper to clean them off while Merlin surveys the stains on his shirt ruefully.

“I’ll have to wear my jacket buttoned the rest of the night,” he says, easing himself off of Arthur carefully. Arthur retrieves his own crumpled shirt, wincing at the ache in his back and the creases in his perfectly ironed sleeves, and says nothing, unsure of what the etiquette regarding small talk is in these situations.

Merlin’s ready to go before Arthur has a chance to finish buttoning his shirt. He lingers though, one hand on the door, looking at Arthur without meeting his eyes. “So,” he says.

Arthur finishes his buttons and loops his tie around his neck. “So.”

“We’re leaving right after the last speech to catch a red-eye home. Are you going to be in Geneva in July?”

“Chicago,” Arthur answers, not without regret. “Fundraising; you know how it goes.”

“Oh.” Merlin slumps, just barely, and Arthur feels like the world’s biggest arsehole before he remembers: “There’s a symposium in New York in two weeks...” He trails off, not sure how to finish, not even really sure why he said anything to begin with except he wouldn’t mind seeing Merlin again, crazy and impossible though that is. 

Merlin brightens again. “Morgana’s moderating the panel on sovereignty and migration. I’ll be there.”

“Well then,” Arthur says, trying for casual and mostly coming off as awkward with just a touch of over-eagerness.

“Well then,” Merlin replies, cheeky, and tugs Arthur’s tie straight before ducking out the door and back to the speeches.

Arthur decides to give it a few minutes before he follows, splashing water on his face in a fruitless attempt to make it look a little less like he just had it off in the men’s. No one will ever let him live down the shame of a not-even-one-night stand, he thinks glumly, then stops to reconsider. He’s seeing Merlin again in two weeks, and maybe if he can get Gaius to work a miracle with Chicago he’ll see him a month after that.

Arthur doesn’t do one night stands at these conferences, but, he thinks, he could get used to meeting Merlin on a regular basis, and he’s pretty sure one night stands by definition do not involve arranging follow-up dates. His reputation is secure.

He nods at his reflection in satisfaction and turns away, a definite spring in his step.


End file.
